Someone You Use
by CatS81
Summary: After six long years, Grace finally grows tired of her destructive relationship with Boyd...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own 'Waking the Dead' or any of its characters, the BBC has that honour – I'm just taking them out to play for a bit. 'Someone you use', as performed by Vonda Shepard, was written by and belongs to C.G Carter, H.T Anglese, K. Mann & T. Stough.

**Content**: Drama, Angst.

**Rating**: T/M, for language, adult situations.

**Spoilers**: This story is set in series 8 but before Grace's cancer diagnosis so anything up to, but not including 'Endgame' is fair cop, I guess.

**A/N**: Firstly, an apology for not updating 'Ebb & Flow' in so long – I've been immersed in all things baby for the past six months but now my son is a bit more settled into a routine, I may finally have a few minutes a day to write! I will get to 'Ebb & Flow' as soon as I can but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this; it's been in my head for a while so it's nice to finally get it down! It's also my first attempt at a song fic so please be gentle with me! :) The lyrics are from the song, 'Someone you use', as performed by Vonda Shepard, and to me it has always embodied the Boyd/Grace relationship...See what you think...

* * *

_Just a shoulder to cry on  
That's all I've been to you  
Just someone to rely on  
When your world is empty and blue_

_I can't do this anymore. _Grace Foley opened her eyes slowly in the inky blackness, the sudden sentiment filling every inch of her consciousness, consuming the fibres of her mind, constricting the flow of blood about the contours of her heart. She could hear him moving quietly around the room, his footsteps soft within the deep pile of her carpet as he bent to retrieve his trousers, his shirt, his underwear. Grace forced herself to breathe evenly, calmly, concentrating on the steady rise and fall of her chest, determined not to alert him to her wakefulness. She felt her stomach tense, her throat tightening as she heard him tentatively say her name, his subsequent heavy sigh causing anguish to tear through her soul. It was the same every time and yet with each occurrence it pained her more, each act of dismissal causing sickening shame to lap greedily at her stomach as she considered the perpetually destructive cycle of her own behaviour as well the intensely hurtful pattern of his; she had never, not once in six years, denied Peter Boyd and the knowledge made her want to howl with despair.

She sighed heavily into the darkness, rolling onto her back as she heard him close the bedroom door behind his retreating form. The trouble was, and had always been, her deeply complicated and contradictory feelings for the man in question. Their relationship, such as it was, had begun well enough, she mused; they had met close to eleven years previously in a strictly professional capacity, and she had been instantly drawn to him, to the vulnerable and stricken person he was so careful to bury deep beneath layers of bravado, of confidence, of borderline boorishness. She had also been desperately attracted to him physically, the intensity of her desire more than surprising her; she had not felt so affected by a man since her late husband, and Jack had been gone for more than a decade. For years she and Boyd had teased and flirted with each other, testing the boundaries of their feelings, driving one another to the edge before always pulling back, and Grace had been left frustrated and confused, unsure of his sentiments towards her beyond those of a good friend. She smiled slightly as she recalled the night that had tipped the balance. The team had finally found the time to celebrate Mel's promotion, had spent an enjoyable evening in one of London's more upmarket curry houses before the younger members had announced their intention to move on to a wine bar, Boyd's predictably reactive groan causing them to laugh riotously...

_... "Oh, come on, Boyd, what's the worst that could happen? You might enjoy yourself?" Frankie's dark eyes were sparkling, her pupils slightly unfocussed owing to several large bottles of Indian beer._

"_He's got to be careful, Frankie." Mel slid her arms into her coat, nobly helped by Spencer, her elfin face alight with joviality. "If he enjoys himself too much the universe might implode."_

_Boyd laughed loudly, shaking his head . "I think that's a little unfair, Mel."_

_Frankie exchanged a broad grin with her friend. "It's a school night, Boyd. She's right on the money."_

"_Spence, for God's sake get them out of here before they get themselves the sack." Boyd implored the younger man, the gravitas of his tone at odds with the light infused through his eyes._

_Spence grinned widely, throwing a brotherly arm about each of the women's shoulders. "I'll make sure they get home before they turn into pumpkins."_

"_Oh, Spence, we're already way beyond that point..." Frankie's voice became fainter as he ushered them from the restaurant with a groan, Mel waving apologetically back over her shoulder towards the table. Grace returned the gesture before taking a sip from her wine glass, chuckling softly as quiet descended upon the surroundings once more, her eyes flickering towards her one remaining companion, absorbing the uncharacteristically relaxed slant to his shoulders, the slackened poise of his limbs._

"_I don't envy them the hangovers tomorrow," she remarked, her smile broadening as she watched Spence's final attempts to escort the younger women through the restaurant door._

_Boyd shrugged, taking a long draw from his wine glass before settling back beside her on the bench seat. "It's well deserved."_

"_I know. Mel did brilliantly and it's about time they let their hair down."_

"_Besides which, they're young, Grace; you remember the days, don't you?"_

"_Where you could be three sheets to the wind of an evening and then get up for work the next day?" She grimaced, recollections of her heady student days flickering through her mind. "Barely."_

"_Oh, come on. I bet you could still drink any of them under the table."_

_She raised an amused eyebrow. "You casting aspersions on my reputation, Boyd?"_

_He held up his free palm as he drained his wine. "Wouldn't dream of it."_

"_Good."_

"_Another bottle, then?"_

_Grace shook her head incredulously, surprised laughter bubbling through her body. "What's got into you tonight?"_

_He grinned. "What, so the younger generation are the only ones allowed to have a good time, is that it?"_

"_No. It's just unlike you to be so..."_

"_What?"_

_She looked at him steadily. "Cavalier."_

_Boyd rolled his eyes, ignoring the challenge in her tone. "Is that a 'yes', then?"_

"_To what?"_

"_More wine?"_

_She laughed again but her voice was firm. "No, Boyd. I need to get home."_

_He groaned with mock disappointment. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that."_

"_So, there you go; you could make a fortune as the world's first mind-reading copper."_

"_Very droll."_

_She smiled and stood up, nudging his knee with hers to encourage him to move his legs from her path, fire ripping suddenly through her body as his palm in the small of her back propelled her gently forwards, his frame close to hers as he rose from his seat behind her. Wordlessly he helped her with her coat, his hands guiding her arms into the sleeves before coming to rest lightly at her waist, his breath in her hair as he spoke once more, Grace feeling herself shiver at his continued and unexpected proximity._

"_Let's get a cab."_

_She turned to face him, her breath catching in her chest as she registered the barely disguised lust in his dark eyes, the intense timbre to his voice. She took a deep breath, trying desperately to slow the pounding of her heart. "Boyd..."_

"_What?"_

"_We live on opposite sides of the river."_

"_I'm aware of that."_

"_Are you?"_

"_Grace..." His hand had risen to her cheek, his fingertips stroking her skin tenderly, his pulse quickening as he watched her eyelids flutter closed, the breath escaping from her body in a soft sigh as she unconsciously leant into his touch. "How about a nightcap?"_

_Reluctantly she opened her eyes to look at him, forcing her desire to the depths of her stomach. "To go with the rest of the booze tonight, you mean?"_

"_Well, that wasn't quite what I..." He sighed with frustration as he caught the uncertainty in her expression, his palm falling from her face. "You think I'm drunk."_

"_I think you're not quite in control of your actions."_

"_Oh, for God's sake, I could be less subtle if you'd rather."_

"_Boyd..."_

"_Let me take you to bed, Grace."_

_She gasped, all rational thought swiftly racing from her mind as he hooked a hand about her waist, pulling her roughly towards him, his lips descending to hers in a single, fluid motion. The kiss was brief, a mere brushing of his mouth against hers but it was enough for the hint of his taste to fill her senses, and she had to remind herself to breathe as he pulled away..._

Grace sighed deeply as the memories washed over her in erotic waves; they had all but lost control in the taxi ride to his house, Boyd's determined palm caressing her thigh firmly beneath her skirt, her own hand slipping inside his shirt to stroke his chest, their tongues duelling as each passionate kiss melded seamlessly into the next. They had fallen through his front door in a red haze of arousal, his hands clawing impatiently at her clothes, and she groaned as she recalled the feel of his tongue nuzzling attentively at her neck, flickering lustfully against her nipples, lapping skilfully between her legs . The sex had been explosive and exhaustive, his prowess awakening nerve endings Grace had never before known existed, and she had fallen asleep thoroughly sated in his arms, a blissful sense of happiness pervading every contour of her soul. The next morning he had been predictably cooler and although it saddened her to her core, she had tried to project an air of casualness, of nonchalance, telling him she would see him at work before kissing him swiftly and leaving the house, tears cloying thickly in her throat as she walked to the nearest Underground station. He had later apologised, Grace forgiving him instantly despite herself, and they had made tentative plans for dinner that never came to fruition; a week later Mel was dead and Grace had felt the world collapse around their shoulders.

_I'm just someone you call dear  
Any time you choose  
I'm just someone you run to  
Someone you use_

He had come to her that night, desolate with grief, distraught with guilt, and she had readily obliged him, wanting to soothe his heart, to be the balm for his battered soul. She had forced away the warning voice in her head, had sublimated her own desires with his needs and when he had risen from her bed in the early hours, she had used every ounce of strength not to sob into the warm space he had left.

_I'm just a fool you can love on  
Any time you choose  
I'm just someone you run to  
Someone you use_

She felt bitter tears spiking the corners of her eyes at the memory. That night had marked the beginning of six years of cyclical behaviour; every time he faced a new crisis, or the resurgence of an old one, he would turn up on her doorstep and without hesitation she would take him in her arms. There was a brief lull when had had been dating Sarah and Grace had suppressed her devastation, catching herself when she became aware that she was drinking more frequently and working longer hours. She had decided unequivocally not to fall back into their chronic holding pattern once his affair was inevitably over, her sense of self-loathing multiplying the first time she had allowed him to return to her bed. She had felt utterly pathetic, utterly used, her heart splintering as she tried to ignore the intense shivers of her body beneath the weight of his arousal, the torrent of heated whispers against her ear.

_I'm just someone you run to  
I'm just someone you use  
Don't you know when you need me  
My little heart just can't refuse_

_For God's sake, Mum; you're nothing more than his bloody fuck-buddy! How can you not think more of yourself than that? How can you not think you deserve better? _She winced painfully as she recalled the vehemence of her eldest daughter's words when she had finally broken down, the pressure of six long years of secrecy, of confusion, of intense heartache suddenly and completely overwhelming her one evening the previous month...

..._ "I don't know, alright? I just...I..."_

"_Are you in love with him?"_

_Grace sighed, running a shaking hand across her red-rimmed eyes. "Gina..."_

_The younger woman frowned deeply, her mother's lack of denial troubling her. "Christ, you must be to let him treat you this way."_

"_It's not as straightforward as that."_

_Gina gave a contemptuous snort. "Of course not. He's a complicated, tortured man, who..."_

"_He is, Gina. Whether you like it or not."_

"_And that gives him free rein to do what he likes, does it? To shag you whenever he damn well feels like it?"_

"_Do you have to be so crass?"_

"_Well, how else would you describe it?"_

"_You make it sound as if I don't have a choice."_

_..._

_But I do. I do have a choice. I can choose to end this. _Swallowing the lump that threatened to constrict her airway, the anguish pulling at her stomach, Grace rose swiftly from her bed and hastily wrapped her dressing gown about her naked frame, determination swelling through her chest. With a final deep, centring breath she opened the door, padding quietly along the landing and down the stairs. Peter Boyd looked up as she approached, halting in his efforts to don his jacket, his rugged features creasing into a frown.

"You alright?" he asked softly, his concern deepening as he noted her pale skin, the indigo circles beneath her expressive eyes.

"No," she replied almost inaudibly, her voice catching, her chest rising and falling in a heavy sigh. Momentarily she looked up at him, their eyes locking intensely, and Boyd felt his heart splinter at the sorrow in her expression. "We need to talk."

_I'm just someone who loves you, baby  
I can't win and I can't lose  
I'm just someone you run to  
I'm just someone you use_

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer, Content, Rating & Spoilers**: see Chapter 1.

**A/N**: Thank you very much for all of your kind reviews – I hope this concluding part is up to par...

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"Alright." Boyd's deep baritone was low, his brow furrowing further as she moved wordlessly towards her living room, her pale lilac dressing gown floating delicately about the curves of her body, the tension in her frame clear despite the darkness of their surroundings. He followed her in silence, blinking as she turned on one of her floor lamps, bathing the room in soft amber light, and he tried not to fixate on the outline of her thigh as she sat down, crossing one slim leg over the other.

He sighed noisily, at once frustrated with himself and the predictable direction of his thoughts where Grace Foley was concerned. "Why do I have the feeling I'm not going to like this?"

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face before dissipating. "Sit down, Boyd."

"I'd prefer to stand. I'm pretty sure in about thirty seconds I'm going to need to be pacing and reciting Shakespeare."

She gave an almost imperceptible shrug, ignoring his attempt at levity. "Suit yourself."

Boyd sighed again, resisting a powerful urge to groan with irritation. "What's going on?"

Grace released the breath from her body, forcing the stubborn tension from her shoulders, willing away the spasms of anxiety in her gut. "I don't want to do this anymore."

He shook his head firmly, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm not discussing this at three o'clock in the morning."

She looked up at him unwaveringly. "The fact that it's three o'clock in the morning, Boyd, and you're about to leave my house is exactly why we need to discuss it."

"Grace..."

"In fact, no, 'discuss' is the wrong word. I'm telling you that I can't do this anymore. I won't."

He exhaled forcefully. "And I don't get a say, is that it?"

"You've repeatedly been the one calling the shots, as I recall. The one who shows up on my doorstep only when you need..."

"Right; and you're telling me I've always had to twist your arm? Don't make me laugh, Grace." He instantly regretted the caustic tone of his words as he noted the anguish that passed across her features and he closed his eyes briefly to steady himself, willing calm to his bloodstream.

"How dare you..."

"As far as I'm aware, we're two consenting adults here."

"That's not the point, Boyd."

"Then what is?"

She stood up to face him, suddenly needing more equal physical footing. "Your Jekyll-and-Hyde impersonation, for one."

"What?"

"For six years we've been dancing to this tune. You turn up whenever you're at breaking point; we have sex, which I can only assume is some twisted form of therapy for you...and yet at the same time you're..." She took a shaky breath, her voice dropping in volume. "...passionate, attentive, generous...You whisper things in the heat of the moment that make me ache, that make me..."

"Christ, Grace..." He took a step towards her, his dark eyes glittering in the half light, her words arousing him despite his efforts to the contrary.

"Then you get up in the middle of the night and leave."

"I don't..."

"And when we're at work you're like a completely different person."

He rolled his eyes, annoyance creeping into the edges of his consciousness. "Well, how else would you have me be? Inviting you into my office at lunchtime for a quick...?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Grow up, then. We're professional contemporaries, aren't we, or am I missing something?"

"Our professional relationship isn't the problem, Boyd." She blew out an irritated breath. "I'm not that naive. I understand the separation between that and our personal...whatever the hell this is. I can't bring myself to call it a relationship."

"So...?"

"It's the way you blow hot and cold that bothers me. In the same day you can go from being dismissive to the point of rudeness when we're at work..."

"You piss me off sometimes at work..."

"...to the man who seems to make it his absolute mission to pleasure me in bed."

He smirked despite himself. "And you're complaining?"

She rolled her cobalt eyes. "I wouldn't be if you were doing it for any other reason than to ease your conscience."

"Oh, for God's sake; is that really what you think?"

She raised her eyebrows, folding her arms across her chest. "Can you blame me?"

"So you actually think that's why I do it? Because I feel guilty?"

"Well, don't you?"

He blew the breath from his lungs forcefully. "Believe it or not, Grace, it's not the first thing I think of when I'm trying to drive a woman to the point of delirium."

"Not consciously."

He threw up his hands with impatience. "You see, _this_ is why we always end up fighting; because you insist on relying on psychological bullshit to make your point! Why don't you change the record, Grace?"

"Because what I say is borne out of years of experience, Boyd. Sometimes the things you do come straight from a text book."

He barked a short laugh. "So now you're telling me there's a text book on this? You're unbelievable!"

"What I mean is that you overcompensate, you..."

"Because I enjoy making you come, feeling you lose control?"

"Oh, take your own advice and grow up, would you?"

"What do you _want _from me, Grace? "

She sighed heavily, inwardly debating the wisdom of her intended words before suppressing her doubt to the pit of her stomach. "I want you to be honest with me. I want you to give me an indication that you see me as more than just a...a..." _Fuck-buddy_. _Someone you use. _The words faltered in her throat, cloying, suffocating her airway as she tried to force them past her vocal chords.

He stepped infinitesimally closer. "What? Colleague, friend...?"

She closed her eyes, pain arcing through her chest. "Don't make me say it, Boyd. Please."

"Say_ what_?"

She looked at him then, searching the depths of his dark eyes, trying desperately to gauge his sincerity, the truth of his affected ignorance before turning away from him, her sense of futility in the situation rising as anguished tears pricked incessantly, uncontrollably at the corners of her eyes. "Just forget it. You should go..."

His hand on her shoulder stopped her dead, despite her concerted efforts to move away, to put some distance between them, the intensity of his voice causing waves of pain to wash over her anew. "The woman I've been sleeping with, who I've been...making love to for the past six years whenever she's been misguided enough to let me? You want to hear me admit it, Grace?" He sighed unevenly. "That's what you are to me. I'm admitting it, alright?"

Grace exhaled shakily, trying to ignore the shivers cascading through her nerves as he brought his other hand to her opposite shoulder, gently squeezing her tightly coiled muscles through the soft layer of her dressing gown. "I don't think what we do could be remotely described as 'making love', do you?"

He winced at the barely disguised despair in her tone. "You want me to be coarser in my description?"

"Well, it would be more accurate, don't you think?"

"Actually, no I don't."

She whipped around to face him suddenly, the soft candour of his words startling her and she blinked, feeling her heart rate beginning to increase steadily beneath the burning scrutiny of his gaze. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"I _don't_, Peter. That's the whole point."

He grimaced. "Jesus, Grace. Why do you think I leave in the middle of the night?"

She folded her arms. "Enlighten me."

"Because I...I can't..."

"What?"

His breath shuddered from his chest, a painful staccato against his ribcage. "Because I can't give you what you want. What you deserve."

"Which is?"

His fingers drifted up to stroke her cheek tenderly, the familiar lines of her face. "Commitment."

Grace swallowed, blinking back the hot tears that threatened to overwhelm her, her voice strangling harshly in her throat. "I've never asked you for that." She sighed. "I just want to know how you feel, Boyd. I don't think that's too much to ask, is it?"

"This is me you're talking to, Grace. My actions have always spoken for themselves."

"But they're not a substitute for words."

"They are for me."

"So, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying...that with the exception of a few insignificant encounters as a teenager...I've never been to bed with anyone without it meaning something. Alright?"

She shook her head, her eyes flickering across his face. "Six _years_, Peter..."

"That should tell you everything you need to know, then."

"I'd believe you if there wasn't a distinct pattern to your behaviour. If you wanted to sleep with me at times other than your crisis points."

He sighed heavily and stepped away from her, running a hand roughly across his face and beginning to pace distractedly. "I just...Sex with you, Grace...It's always been...inextricably linked to the fact that you're...that you're my..."

"Your what? For God's sake, Boyd..."

He looked back across the room at her, absorbing the uncertainty, the distress lacing every contour of her being, the naked misery infusing her eyes. He took a deep breath, pressing his lips together, the silence in the room elongating before he could force himself to speak once more. "My anchor."

Grace gasped softly, the unexpected gentleness of his forthright admission, the raw emotion saturating his tone completely astounding her, engulfing her senses. For several moments she was unable to respond, her eyes locking to his in silent communication as unspoken sentiments flowed through the space between them, years of misunderstanding, of consternation dissolving dramatically away. Eventually she cleared her throat, moistening her lips as the words struggled to emanate from her mouth. "Why didn't you say something before?"

He shrugged, shaking his head. "I thought you knew."

She gave a short, incredulous laugh, suddenly angry. "Based on what? The fact that we've been sporadically sleeping together for years? The fact that in all that time you've never spent a whole night in my bed?"

"Grace..."

"Or maybe based on the fact that you replaced me as soon as someone younger and more attractive came along? Was that when I was supposed to work out how you felt about me?"

Boyd rubbed an exhausted hand across his eyes. "What do you want me to say, Grace? Do you want me to admit what a prick I was, what a mistake I made with Sarah?"

She shook her head. "I just can't believe that in spite of all of that, you still expected me to know what was going on in your head."

"I just thought...stupidly, maybe...that it was implicit."

She looked at him disbelievingly. "You're joking."

"For Christ's sake, you know how shit I am when it comes to admitting..."

"I thought I was _nothing_ to you, Boyd, okay?" She blinked rapidly, willing away the tears that were burning in her throat, forcing away the constriction tightening in her chest. "Less than nothing."

He stepped towards her, bitter regret coating each nerve of his body as he watched her battle furiously with the agony beneath her skin, the years of anguished hurt clear in the barely controlled contortions of her delicate features. She was passive as he pulled her gently into his embrace, her arms at her side as if she no longer had the energy for resistance, his hands caressing the length of her back, his lips brushing against her hair. "Telling you that I'm sorry seems like an insult." he murmured softly after several moments had passed, his mouth pressing tender kisses to the top of her head. "But, for what it's worth, Grace...I truly am."

Grace felt her whole body shudder against his chest, his long-awaited apology washing across her heart in soothing waves, his words a healing balm to her fractured soul. The tears flowed unbidden from her eyes as she finally surrendered to the torrent of emotion swirling in her chest, unable to stop her shoulders heaving beneath the weight of her sobs. He eased her closer to his body, desperate to relieve her suffering, one hand caressing the back of her neck, the other tracing soothing circles across her back, her waist, and her hips. Eventually she pulled back, the trembling of her body beginning to subside and he slid his palms to her face, cupping her jaw, his thumbs brushing away the residual tears that streaked the expanse of her cheeks. He kissed her instinctively, the action so natural, so organic that his body moved without conscious thought, his lips tenderly brushing her mouth before he pulled away, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

"I don't know how to fix this," he whispered hoarsely, relief flooding his soul when she responded with a small smile, though her eyes were still bright with tears.

"The question is whether or not you want to," she said quietly. "And how much effort you're willing to..."

"I want to." His reply was immediate, his tone filled with determination, sincerity cascading from his obsidian eyes. "Christ, Grace, I know I've fucked up...and I know it'll take time for you to trust me but I...I..."

"Then you can start by coming back to bed." She laid a palm against his chest to pre-empt him. "Not for sex."

He frowned. "It's not always the first thing on my mind, you know."

"I'm realistic where we're concerned, Peter. If it happens during the course of things, then it happens." She sighed. "But fundamentally we just need to learn how to...be together without an agenda. Do you think it's possible?"

"I'd like it to be."

"Then that's all I can ask for."

She smiled and took his hand then, their fingers naturally interlacing as she moved to lead him from the room and towards the stairs, her heart swelling as they entered her bedroom, a strange sense of trepidation flowing through the air despite the familiarity of their movements. Grace shed her dressing gown and slipped between the soft cotton sheets of her bed, watching as Boyd unselfconsciously divested himself of his clothing before joining her. His arms immediately encircled her slender body, warm thrills prickling across his skin as he felt her relax into his embrace, the stress releasing itself from her joints, her limbs as he squeezed her closer. He focussed on slowing his breathing, unconsciously synching with hers, his chest moving against her back in a calming rhythm as he felt his perpetual guilt and tension beginning to seep gradually from his bones. _Christ, I love you_, he thought suddenly as his lips moved instinctively to her neck. _I've always been in love with you. _He exhaled against her skin at the unexpected realisation._ Shit, I've been so blind, so completely and utterly blind...I only hope I haven't left it too late to make it up to you..._ The determined thought was the last one to filter consciously through his mind before he joined her in tranquil repose.

FIN


End file.
